


Different Than Expected

by Jenett



Category: The Mummy (1999)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:21:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27960707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenett/pseuds/Jenett
Summary: When Rick and Evy return to London in 1927, Rick is not entirely sure what to expect.
Relationships: Evy Carnahan O'Connell/Rick O'Connell
Comments: 22
Kudos: 76
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	Different Than Expected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Roccolinde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roccolinde/gifts).



"Evy." 

"Yes?" Evy turned away from the taxi cab. 

"That is not a house." Rick waved a hand at the manor, sprawling out with at least two wings he could see, "That is ... " 

"Home." Evy was as decisive as always. "My home. Our home." 

Rick frowned again, looking from one end of the place to the other. There were going to be hidden passages, he was sure of it. Knowing what he did about Evy's late father, there were certainly mummies somewhere in the place. Sarcophagi. Probably half a dozen magical artifacts. 

He had argued for a flat. The two of them. No space for Jonathan to invite himself over. But no, Evy had said she had a house. That 'my' just made Rick stop again. "Your house? Not Jonathan's?" 

"My house. Left to me." Evy took two steps forward, stopping by the pile of trunks and suitcases. 

Rick had known his late father-in-law was exceptionally untraditional. Jonathan was the older, by two years. And male. On the other hand, it had been clear to him at their first meeting that given the chance, Jonathan would have gambled or drunk away whatever he could get his hands on. Not without some reason, Rick suspected. Which left them in front of this fine old.... extremely large house. 

He sighed, and picked up the suitcases. "Better show me where these go. And where the mummies are." 

"Oh, the ones here are very well-behaved. They stay where you put them."

Rick turned his head, peering at Evy. He could not, for the life of him, figure out if she was teasing him. "Do they even know we're coming?"

"The mummies? They're not like bees. You don't have to tell them the news." 

"The... No. Wait. Stop. How does this work?"

"You can leave the cases, I'm sure someone will be out to get them." 

Rick shook his head, balancing the cases so he could bring them all. At least the heavy trunks and crates would be delivered tomorrow, when he could figure out where things went. Or begin to figure it out. 

The closer they got to the front of the house, the larger it loomed. 

"Does your housekeeper know we're coming?" Something like this had to have a housekeeper. Or a flock of staff. It made his head hurt. 

"Oh, yes, I wrote a telegraph before we boarded the ship. She'll have our rooms sorted out." 

"Rooms." Rick wasn't sure what that meant. Different rooms? He knew that people with this kind of house often did that.

"Bedroom, bathroom, sitting room. You can have an office, if you like? There's a library, of course. Well, three libraries. And half a dozen galleries with art and artifacts." Evy swept along, and Rick gave up on getting this to make sense any time soon.

The foyer, if that was what you called it, was dizzying. Tile in a black and white checkerboard pattern, and everywhere Rick looked, there were chairs and lamps and plants. All a little underused, but someone had been dusting. Entirely too many places someone might hide. Too many shadows. He hauled the suitcases along, dropping them at the entrance to what was probably actually called a music room. It had a piano. Also more cases of Egyptian artifacts than he suspected was entirely normal for a music room. 

Once they were finally in the bedroom, alone, Rick came back from peering at the bathroom to find Evy staring out the window. "How long has it been?" 

"Since I was here? Years. Shortly after the funeral. Their rooms were across the hall." She turned back, looking over her shoulder. "You'll feel better if I give you a tour." 

Rick snorted. "Now you mention it. How does... " He shook his head. "This isn't a world I know. Archaeology, I'm beginning to understand. Adventuring, sure. This?" He reached out, his hand sweeping across the implied landscape, and coming closer than he wanted to admit to what was probably a priceless vase. 

"What do you want to do? I know what I want."

"The Bembridge Scholars. The British Museum." 

She turned back to him and slid her arms around his neck. "You." 

That, at least, Rick knew what to do with. Or at least, he was vigorously applying himself to learning about it. Pulling her closer, he kissed her, then kissed her again. This part made sense to him, this part wasn't complicated by the gulf that ran between his life and hers. All the things she expected as gifts from the world, and all the ways he expected it to betray him. Them, now. 

She tugged him back towards the bed. "First this. Then the tour." 

That, he couldn't object to. And certainly wouldn't. 

***

"Is this how these events always go?" 

Someone with a tray went by, and Rick snagged a glass of wine for himself and one for Evy, the red she'd liked earlier that evening. He did not understand all the nuances of wine, or at least he hadn't yet learned the snooty words for them, but he could and did pay attention to what she liked. 

"People standing around, having arch conversations that are terribly meaningful to them? Generally. In about twenty minutes someone will sidle over and ask us for a generous donation to ... what's it tonight?" Evy paused, rummaging in her memory. "It's Friday, it must be the library roof."

"That is an easier cause to back than - what was it two weeks ago?" 

Evy wrinkled her nose. "Some sort of pump. Along the Thames." 

Rick nodded. "Shall we wander through and admire the - what is it?" 

"Books." That made her light up. "Not my period, of course, not remotely. But look, there's cochineal ink." Rick had no complaints about the way she took his hand, and tugged him along. He made sure to nod and smile at the people he went by, though he was never sure how effective it was. A good half of them were somewhere between puzzled and offended. 

Twenty-five minutes later, someone had indeed cornered them to see about that generous donation. Rick had to admit it was often hilarious, watching people try to figure out how to approach them. It was Evy's money, but everyone considered it rude - or at least not decorous - to approach her. Rick knew enough about a quartermaster's job to make sure any project he was part of ran efficiently, and he'd learned that about the house as quickly as he'd could. But he also had a clear sense of where the lines he wouldn't cross were. 

Evy had settled into a remarkably detailed series of questions about the stability of the proposed shelving changes in the library, if the outside fittings would include handholds for safe climbing, and whether the windows would have protective cages around them. When the baffled man finally fled with a check in his hands, Rick leaned over, "I thought escape routes were my job?" 

It made Evy laugh, and oh, he loved how that lit up her face. "He'd tell me. He'd worry about why you were asking." 

"If people were sensible, they'd worry a lot more about you." 

Before Evy could say anything further, a man came over, clearing his throat, He looked, quite honestly, enough like Jonathan that Rick had to blink twice. Same sort of face, the sort of comfort with a tuxedo that was all about being born in one, same accent. The man was, however, dark-haired, with the sort of blue eyes that stood out. He bowed slightly. "Miss Carnahan." 

"Mrs O'Connell." Evy replied, promptly. "My husband, Rick." 

That wrong-footed the man more than a bit, but he recovered quickly. A tad too quickly, Rick thought, but he simply nodded and smiled pleasantly enough. "I had not realised you had married." 

"In Cairo," Evy's voice was pleasant enough still. Rick knew that many of the people here had respected her father, in particular. And that they wanted a chance at either the Egyptological collections or Evy's money. Possibly, Rick thought, eyeing this man again, also Evy.

"Arthur Hemmings-Snood. I had the pleasure of meeting your father several times, such a pity about his death." Rick shifted a little, but Evy just nodded. She must have expected some of that kind of comment, from the way it didn't particularly faze her. She would, however, pay sharp attention to who mentioned her mother as well - and who didn't. 

"Do you have an interest in Egyptology, then?" Evy's tone was still entirely pleasant. Of course, if the man had a true interest in the field, and was up to her standards of scholarship, she'd talk to him for hours without stopping. 

"Oh, I dabble. Here and there. I did read this interesting article, oh, a few months ago. Something about a stelae at the Cairo Museum, now, what was it? Something about a mistranslation. I thought it was really quite intriguing, laying out the ways a mistranslation might have a significant impact on an excavation. Really quite brave, going against the standard scholarship on the topic. I'm sure you haven't read the full thing, that article from the Bembridge Scholars, five or six years ago?" 

"Actually, I...." Evy spoke clearly, but Mr Huffing-Nitwit rolled right over her. Rick realised, almost immediately, what the article must have been. Evy's piece on the translations of the stelae of Ramesses the Second, from that massive stone in the Cairo Museum. 

"Now I suppose you don't get to do much of that sort of thing yourself. Excavation's a man's job. There are bugs, you know." 

"Have you ever..." Evy tried again, and the man just carried on. It was a problem of this sort of British public school man, and the worst of it was, Rick was now surrounded by them. He glanced over at Evy, who was annoyed and distracted, but not - yet - actively moving to fury. It wasn't that she was patient with this kind of foolishness, it was that she refused to care about it. 

"Now, someone lovely, like you, I'm sure you've never had to put up with the challenges of a dig site. All the sand and the tents and what have you. You need a proper setting to sparkle." He gestured broadly at the room, full of a glittering throng. It occurred to Rick, suddenly, that it would be an excellent target for a thief. 

This time Evy didn't try to speak, she just raised an eyebrow. Apparently, now she was going to see how long the man went on for. That meant she must have some reason for not cutting him off entirely. She knew these people, or at least how they connected, and Rick had never met anyone as insistently in pursuit of her goals as Evy was. Chances were, he was a nephew or godson or chosen pet of someone whose influence might be relevant, at least for the moment. 

She did much better with not making enemies than Rick ever had. Not that that was the highest bar. Just that moment, though, something caught his eye. Someone was lingering, back by the display cases, with his hands at a precise spot. 

Rick knew that angle. He'd seen Jonathan's hands, like that, a few too many times. He'd finally cajoled Jonathan - alright, maybe threatened - into explaining how it worked. How Jonathan could swipe something out of someone's pocket, without them noticing, or slip something off a table. Or out of a locked case. Rick wasn't nearly that skilled. He hadn't exactly had much time to practice. But at least he knew what to look for, the little tells. 

And the big ones. The thief - and Rick was now sure that's what he was - wasn't being subtle at all. He was assuming, quite rightly, that everyone in the room was busy with whatever socialising they were doing. That the staff passing through would block the line of sight. It was pure dumb luck that Rick had been at the right angle to see anything at all. 

Right. The evening might actually be enjoyable after all. He leaned over to murmur in Evy's ear. "Need to see a man about a lock pick." 

She turned her head, quirking an eyebrow, and then said, "Bring me back a little more wine, darling." He nodded, and shrugged, making his way to a corner of the room, where he could most easily disappear. Or least fade in behind a mass of other men in tuxedos. A minute later, he had circled around to the door to the hallway. 

The thief was just turning around, having eased a large book out of the display and put it in a bag. Rick took half a step back, to angle himself properly, and punched, once, precisely. As the man went down, Rick scooped up the book, and raised his hand to wave a thumb's up at Evy, then crooked a finger, to get her to join them. There must be security around here somewhere, or a constable. He didn't even know how things normally worked at a party like this. 

Almost instantly, there was a squark of absolute shock from Mr Horribly-Awful. When he stepped back, gasping, Evy was smiling, broadly. Her voice wasn't loud, but it cut across the room, since other people had turned to see what was going on. "So sorry, my hand must have slipped. Do pardon me." She couldn't resist a parting comment. "And that article you were going on about? Do check the author. E. C. O'Connell. That would be me." 

Then, glorious and entirely self-possessed, she strolled across the room. People parted around her, not knowing why, like they recognised something in her that could not be denied. Rick, of course, couldn't take his eyes off her. Not even when the man on the floor stirred. Rick just planted his foot more firmly on his chest. 

When Evy came around the display, she peered down. "My. Not at all up to your skill as a dancing partner, then?" 

He laughed, and shook his head. "You said not to make a fuss tonight. Can you fetch whoever gets fetched when we're being polite about this sort of thing?" Then, after a moment, he added, "And Mr Hopeless-Shoe wasn't too much of a problem?" 

"Tell you later." Her voice had that crisp note, of something she didn't want to talk about. He'd persuade her later, as much as was needed. 

When they were safely back in their bedroom, Rick nudged her shoulder. "Let me undo your dress." He'd already shrugged the jacket off, and was working on the vest. There had been more than a bit of a fuss to sort through. First the thief had accused Rick, but the lock picks were in the thief's pocket, and the thin kid gloves were far too small to fit Rick's hands. As Evy pointed out, a late medieval book of hours was not of particular interest to anyone in their family. Rick had obligingly followed that with a "A book of what?" He knew his cues, even if he knew perfectly well what one was. He did have a reputation to maintain here. 

Evy turned around, reaching to pull the enamelled hair comb out of her hair, letting it fall loosely. He spun her back around as soon he'd undone the last fastening, letting his hand run up her back. "Sorry for abandoning you." 

"You did have a reason." She didn't sound upset, certainly not at him. 

"What was it that made you throw your wine at Mr Hyphenated-Awful? Compared to the rest of the conversation?" 

That made her snort with laughter. "He was angling to stay between me and where you were. As if I'd lose track of you like that." Evy reached a hand up to his shoulder to balance, while she kicked her shoes off, one by one. 

"That's the conversation you had, when they were going through my pockets one more time."

"Mmhmmm. I'd heard a bit about middling-rare things going missing. Into private collections. Awfully brazen of them to try during the party, but if we hadn't been us, it might well have worked." Evy tilted her head. It wasn't the theft that bothered her, Rick was sure, nearly so much as the potential loss of knowledge. 

When he looked up from undoing his shirt, her head was tilted, and she was considering him now. "Do you hate the parties? A great deal?" 

"They're not what I'd choose. But they matter to you." He shrugged. He'd certainly been in many worse places. And with worse food. Certainly far worse company. 

"You know why I wanted to come back." 

Rick hesitated, for just a moment. There were parts of this they'd talked about. Parts of it they hadn't discussed, but they both knew. And parts he hadn't been sure she realised, yet. "You tell me." 

She nudged him in the chest with two fingers, pushing him back toward the bed, and he went obligingly, taking small enough steps she didn't have to work for it, as she shimmied out of the dress with each step. "I'd sorted out poor Dr Bey's papers, and written up everything we were going to write up." 

"Doesn't do to tell people where to find the mummies that attack you. Or the flesh-eating scarabs. Even if people could get in there."

"Which they can't. Collapsed into the desert, buried in sand. But no." She nudged him again. 

"And you said the Bembridge Scholars were reviewing your recent work." 

She nodded. "I had a letter this afternoon. It's promising." Rick wasn't entirely sure how to read that, he was getting entirely distracted by the way her hair was moving as she talked. 

Also, that did not explain why she'd wanted to come back to London before that, and he knew she knew it. "And London because..."

"You want a family." She didn't ask it, didn't question it. Didn't even explain it, like almost anyone else would have. It was just a fact, as simple as if it had been carved on that stelae. Or perhaps the Rosetta Stone, so that if one language were insufficiently clear, the other two would fill in the gaps. 

Rick didn't trust his voice, but he nodded, just once. 

"Then we need to be here." Her voice was clear again, relaxed, warm. As if having laid out the logic, as thoroughly as she laid out her excavation plans, everything else would fall into place. 

He paused, and then his voice cracked for just an instant. "Are - are we?" 

She nudged him one last time, with her fingers, and he stepped back to feel the bed hit him in the back of his thighs. "I don't know. Yet." 

There were a dozen questions he wanted to ask, and none of them mattered. Right now, they were here, the world was safe for another day, and they had both earned their pleasure tonight and then some. 


End file.
